


Nappy Trouble

by WholockHobbit88



Series: Little Sherlock and John [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Accidents, Age Play, Anal Sex, Desperation, Diapers, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Humiliation, M/M, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: When Sherlock and John conduct an experiment to see how long John can go without using the bathroom, the results are disastrous. After an argument, however, John and Sherlock clear up their misunderstandings and turn John's humiliation into something he'll never forget.





	1. Chapter 1

10:46

It was a quiet Saturday morning and John was eager to sit around and not do much. He and Sherlock had been on a case for nearly a week and had only wrapped it up two days ago. They had been so busy, running across the city for days on end, getting next to no sleep so John was glad to sleep in and then spend the day relaxing. Sherlock was experiencing one of the rare times when he didn't feel especially little so they hadn't done any age play yet but that was okay; he needed sleep too and while John sat in the living room updating his blog, Sherlock was quietly resting in his own room.

John was curled up in his chair, laptop on his nappy clad lap when he felt hands on his shoulders which made him jump.

"Nappy off, John. No nappies today"

John was dominate most of the time but he was an somewhat easily persuaded switch. Sherlock commanded all of the shots when they were out on cases but at home he took a back seat to John's calls. That didn't mean, however, that John was against Sherlock being in control at home too. Quite to the contrary, he would welcome it on the rare occasions it happened.

"Oh yeah? And why should I listen to you?" John asked, keeping his eyes on his computer though his shaky voice gave him away. Though he would easily submit to Sherlock and they both knew it, that didn't mean he wouldn't fight a little bit too.

"Well, you don't have to" Sherlock hummed in his ear, running a cool finger along the back of John's neck and making him shiver. "But…I thought perhaps you could take your nappy off and see how long you can hold it. And…..if you're a good boy and don't give in until I say so, you can use me as a nappy."

John's hand unconsciously fell to his nappy. A rush of excitement and thrill ran through him and fought to try to control his response. It was no good; Sherlock would see through it all. It was no secret that John had a diaper fetish; it was blatantly obvious to Sherlock and had been for years now. He'd always had an interest in desperation and watersports too, even long before he had tried and admitted he likes nappies. Not that he'd ever had a partner that would indulge those interests. The few adventurous women he'd cautioned to bring it up to were disgusted by it and eventually he'd stopped trying to bring up that fetish.

Sherlock on the other hand, was another story. He was much more intrigued by the babyish factor of nappies than a fascination with wetting itself but the interest was there. They'd discussed it shyly in the days before they had actually started a physical relationship and now that they had a sexual element in their lives, John had eagerly awaited Sherlock to initiate that. Now, it appeared today was the day. John almost wet his nappy out of excitement though he held back; Sherlock would know and call him on it like a hyper puppy.

"What if I can't hold it?" John asked, his voice trembling with eagerness. It was a valid concern; John wore nappies most of the time and he wasn't sure how long he was capable of holding it anymore. How embarrassing it would be to act proudly as if he could hold it all day and then end up peeing his pants in an hour.

"Oh, I'll know" Sherlock cooed at him, wrapping an arm around his neck and playing with his hair with his other hand. "I know how much you can stand and I'll take care of you. Besides, if you cheat, I'll know and it won't be good for you. Maybe I'll get to bust your ass for once"

John laughed, looking back at Sherlock and quirking an eyebrow. "You really think you want to try that?" he asked. Though he'd submitted to a lower headspace occasionally with Sherlock's help, Sherlock had never dared to try and spank him. He knew better.

Sherlock faulted, blushing for a moment but then tried to be nonchalant. "If you trick me, I will. What do you say? If you win, you win quite a lot." He said, smiling winningly at John.

"Oh…..okay" John said, feeling excited and in a delightful sense of submission. As if there had been any chance he wouldn't give in.

"Good" Sherlock praised him, petting his hair. "Now, off with that nappy and let's begin. Oh, and wear the red pants. I like them best."

John was up and out of his chair in two seconds flat.

12:10

John found it interesting how when you were trying to not to pee that suddenly the need to pee consumed you. He'd been wearing nappies so long that he hardly ever thought about going to the bathroom; he just relaxed almost instantly when the need came. Now, it was all he could think about.

John had thrown his nappy in the trash eagerly and thrown on his red pants under his sweat pants but almost instantly it felt wrong. He felt almost naked with so little around his bits; he found himself pulling at his pants and trousers, them rubbing him uncomfortably. He felt like a child who had been deprived of his nappies and forced to potty train against his will.

"Having some trouble there?" Sherlock asked in amusement as he came into the sitting room to find John sitting on the couch and rubbing his irritated bits. John instantly stopped, grabbing the remote and pretending to study the channels.

"No" John said gruffly though he could hear Sherlock laugh behind him.

"Don't tell me you're feeling uncomfortable already" Sherlock taunted him.

John felt his face turn red. He wanted to pee; he really wanted to pee. But it was a reflex; he could hold out. He WOULD hold out. "I'm fine; trust me" John said, smiling widely just to prove, wrongly, that he was alright. Just because he wasn't used to holding it didn't mean that he couldn't do it. Not only did he want to prove Sherlock wrong, he also wanted the reward of holding out.

Sherlock paced around for a few minutes, looking around in various piles of who knew what while John tried to ignore him before he turned abruptly toward John. "Alright, get up; we're having Angelo's for lunch" he said.

"Are you going to order the take away for once?" John asked curiously. He knew the answer to that without even waiting for it and was already reaching for his mobile.

"We're not having take away" Sherlock said, "We are going to eat there in the restaurant."

John narrowed his eyes. "What are you up to? " he asked suspiciously. "You never want to eat at Angelo's. You always prefer take away"

"I'm not up to anything. Maybe I just want to take you out someplace and imagine you in those lovely red pants." Sherlock said in an overly sweet voice. If he had just scaled it down a few pegs, John would have actually believed him but not now.

"Yeah…maybe not" John said skeptically but he was already getting up.

12:45

"Wine with lunch? You've got to be joking, Sherlock" John said, as the wine arrived at their table. There had been periods in John's life where he had drunk at all hours of the day but that was a habit he had given up. It wasn't so bad occasionally; if John thought it was all innocent. But he knew better.

"Why not? Live a little, John. Unwind…we've got no case on" Sherlock said with a dramatic wave of his hand as he poured himself some wine. John's portion, he couldn't help but notice, was much larger.

John scowled skeptically at Sherlock. "You hardly ever drink and definitely not in the middle of that day. What are you up to?"

"Nothing" Sherlock said, causally sipping his wine, but John didn't believe it. He had to admit there was no chance that Sherlock had spiked it; fool me twice…. But John had seen Angelo bring it to the table himself and Sherlock was drinking out of the same bottle. Still…..he was up to something.

"I suppose your eagerness to have me drink has nothing to do with the fact that alcohol is a diuretic?" John asked slyly, noticing the way Sherlock's eyes dropped to his lap now and then. He wasn't completely without observational skills.

"I can understand your reticence" Sherlock said challengingly, "If you think you can't stomach it, then…"

John could see it as a challenge a mile away and knew he should not do it but as always, his manly pride always won out. "I can stomach a few glasses of wine, I can assure you" John said with a roll of his eyes as he tipped back the wine glass.

14:36

Turns out he couldn't stomach the wine. The wine in itself wasn't so bad but it seemed to give him a dry throat and he still wasn't convinced that there wasn't something strange about it. Despite his trying to stay away from drinking anything, he eventually couldn't stop himself from downing some water even though he knew everything that passed his lips would come back to hurt him. He wasn't used to limiting his liquid intake and he found himself dreaming about water and coffee and nappies. It was beginning to be a bit much but he wouldn't mention that to Sherlock over his dead body.

Sherlock was ignoring him and John was beginning to resent it. Their lunch was nice though John did notice Sherlock was quieter than normal. Now, he was deeply immersed in an experiment, the kind that he could study for hours on end and didn't hear anything John said. John was just trying to find useful employment but it was getting harder and harder when his bladder was aching. John was beginning to feel needy; usually when Sherlock ignored him for hours he was relived because Sherlock was so needy usually. But now, seeing as Sherlock had started this and got him going, he resented being dropped so forcefully.

John sat on the couch, flipping through the pages of a book occasionally but he couldn't focus on the words. He kept staring at Sherlock in the kitchen, bent over a microscope, growing angrier and angrier. John was glad that Sherlock's attention was so fully engrossed that he didn't notice how bothered John was. If he'd been paying any amount of attention he would notice John glaring at him from the couch, flipping the pages hard enough to tear them.

Sherlock seemed frozen over his microscope forever when abruptly, without any warning he popped his head up from the microscope and rushed through the flat, throwing on his coat in a hurry.

"Alright" Sherlock said pointedly as if he was continuing in the middle of a conversation, "I'm going to the shop to get some ammonium. I'll only be a few minutes"

"So you mean you do have legs? You can walk into a shop?" John asked him sarcastically, "Why don't you get some milk while you're there; we've been out two days." John felt unusually irked by Sherlock's lassie faire attitude than normal, exasperated by his bladder's persistent need and his undue feelings of loneliness.

"We've been out two days because you have refused stubbornly to get it in the hopes that I will" Sherlock said frustratingly. "I will be back in only a few minutes"

John's ire rose as he threw aside his book. "Yeah…you said that already" he said with heavy irritation. "Get off with it"

"I'm reminding you so that you know it would be ill advised to try anything funny while I'm gone" Sherlock said, "I'd probably catch you and even if I didn't, I would still be able to tell."

Sherlock gave him a know it all smirk and when John threw the book at him, he finally left. With the flat silent and John alone he felt the quiet naughtiness that accompanies an empty house. Feeling desperate, John walked to the bathroom and stared at the toilet longingly; never since he'd begun to wear nappies had he ever desired the toilet but he did now. John grabbed himself, biting his lip; would Sherlock really know if he just went a little bit? John felt a surge of excitement flood through him; surely he could pee just some, take off some of the pressure and Sherlock would never know. After all, even if Sherlock was gone for only a few minutes that was plenty of time to use the toilet.

The hope that had blossomed in John's chest deflated almost as a soon; of course Sherlock would know if he went. It wasn't an empty threat; he would know and he would never hear the end of it. John was not a non-consenting partner to this torture; he could go to the bathroom and nothing was stopping him. But if he refused to play into Sherlock's little game the way he wanted then it would likely be a long time before he repeated it because he was a spoiled brat like that. And John was so wound up now at the thought of using Sherlock ill that he couldn't give up.

Defeated, John dragged himself out of the bathroom and walked back to the living room, pulling and bothering his stupid red pants all the way. When had underwear become so uncomfortable!? John was sure that technically nappies were a lot more restrictive and conducive to rashes than pants but it had been forever since he had worn any and all they did was just seem to rub and irritate him!

In a fit of red pants induced rage, John yanked his sweatpants and underwear down to his ankles before he flung himself back into his chair with an almighty sigh. Yes! That was better! John held his bits delicately, as if they had been greatly injured and delighted in the momentary feel of cool air against his agitated skin. Yes…it wasn't much relief but it was something.

"Oh, John really….."

John's eyes snapped open after having only been closed for a few blissful minutes. Naturally, Sherlock was standing not even two feet from him and he hadn't even heard him. Sherlock had to be part cat or something. John covered himself and felt his face turn blood red.

"John, I know we are in sexual relationship now that but that doesn't mean you can just do this out here in the living room" Sherlock said delicately, as if he was talking to a person who did something uncouth, "If you want to molest yourself, do it in the bedroom."

John blushed harder and yanked his sweat pants up. "I was not!" he said, embarrassed.

"John, it's okay" Sherlock said, looking a little embarrassed for John, "I'm sure the added pressure of your bladder calls attention to your genitals. But just do it in the bedroom."

John rolled his eyes heavily. "Such enticing words from my lover" he said sarcastically, "And I was not. I just needed to get that underwear off for a bit. It's rubbing me the wrong way."

Sherlock smiled, entirely too pleased at John's discomfort. "Maybe that's a sign that you need to wear it more and your beloved nappies less." He smirked.

This time, John threw a much larger book at him.

16:58

John wasn't going to make it; he was almost sure of it now. He was a very proud man and he would rather die than admit weakness to Sherlock but he was not going to make it. After Sherlock's trip to the shop (in which he still didn't get any milk, the bastard) he had resumed his experiment and his blatant ignoring of John made him angry enough that he had shut himself in his bedroom and had not remerged.

There was nothing doing; John couldn't focus on anything, just the aching, burning pressure in bladder and the longing feeling of letting go. So now all he was doing was lying out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and fuming with anger and pain and desire. Was all of this worth it? John had tried to convince himself that nothing was worth the discomfort so that he could just bloody give in but every time a 'Sherlock as a nappy' fantasy popped into his head and made his aching loins stir with interest and he knew that it was worth it. Damn…

John was stewing heavily in his anger when the door of his room burst open and Sherlock blew through like a tornado. Without preamble, of course, Sherlock opened up John's closet and began to throw jeans and a jumper at him.

"What are you doing?" John asked, his voice obviously irritated as a belt flew through the air and hit him on the head.

"Put those on; we're going out" Sherlock said excitedly, his face bright and alive.

John scowled. "Out? Why would we go out?" he grumbled. Sherlock had got him amped up and then ignored him all day and now he wanted to go out? Did he even remember the precarious experiment he had started in John?

"I want to go to the cinema. See the new Marvel film" Sherlock said, tapping his foot as he didn't understand why John wasn't dressed yet.

"We already saw that film" John said gruffly. He did not feel like going to a movie; he could barely hold it all in as it was.

"Yes, but I was little when we went. I will appreciate it another way this time" Sherlock said brightly.

John still hadn't made a move to get dressed. "I don't want to go to the cinema" he said, annoyed. "I want you to bloody finish what you started this morning!"

Sherlock has seemed so ignorant that John had genuinely began to wonder if Sherlock had forgotten what he had done but with a darkening look in his eyes, one that made John go weak, he realized that he hadn't forgotten about it at all. "After we go to the movies I can assure you I will have a treat in store for you" he said in his deepest, darkest timber.

John could feel the interest and the longing of several kinds shake through him at the words. He almost wanted to argue that he didn't want it just out of pride; he wanted to show Sherlock that he didn't just bow to that voice and look. But the thing was that he DID; he couldn't fight it.

"Fine" John said roughly, snatching the clothes up and giving Sherlock a hateful look. He gingerly worked himself into the jeans, feeling pressure and pain at every small move, glaring at Sherlock. "But, I swear, if you keep me waiting….."

John didn't have to finish the threat that he had started on that note. Sherlock smiled at him, the charming, winning smile that made outsiders think Sherlock was a kind soul to the core and incapable of deception. "I promise I will not keep you waiting"

17:15

This had been a horrible idea. John should have seen it coming and in many ways he had but he'd let his testosterone go to his head and now he was standing in an impossibly crowded theater in agony. John kept bouncing on his feet, unable to stand still as people pushed past him and he looked longingly at the restroom while Sherlock took a million years to decide what he wanted from the concession stand.

"Hmmm…..what kind of candy do you want?" Sherlock asked care freely, staring through the glass case as if he didn't have a worry in the world.

John thrust his hands in his pockets angrily. "I don't want any candy" he said through clenched teeth. The only thing that was going to get him through the torture of waiting through a whole film was to be sitting down and if Sherlock didn't just hurry up…

"How about some popcorn? That might be nice" Sherlock mused in his slowest, most infuriating drawl.

John closed his eyes, resisting the urge to pull his hair out. The effort of holding it was making him sweat bullets in his heavy jumper. "I don't want popcorn" he hissed.

Sherlock, acting oblivious though John knew better, plowed on. "I think I want a fizzy drink. What kind do you want?" he asked, pointing to the sign of options.

"I don't want a damn fizzy drink! Are you crazy!?" John yelled, losing his control so much that several passersby stared at him, a few snickering as they walked away.

Sherlock finally turned to look at John, giving him a wide eyed look that suggested he wanted to laugh like the strangers. John, still sweating and now embarrassed and seething, felt like he would explode. "Christ, John" he said, breaking off with a bit of laugh, "I don't think that's necessary."

John felt his blood boil. He leaned in dangerously close to Sherlock, his eyes narrowed to slits. "I have been nappy-less all day and I'm in pain. You're toying with me." He said dangerously. "'Do you want a fizzy drink?'" John imitated Sherlock, "Of course I don't! I'm about three seconds away from leaving."

Sherlock's expression changed, the humor leaving and being replaced with sympathy. John knew Sherlock well enough to know that it wasn't genuine sympathy but it was something better than laughing at him at least. "It's too much?" he asked in a soft, gentle voice, rubbing his arm sympathetically. "I'll stop teasing. Let's just go watch our film."

John had a number of colorful explicatives that he thought about throwing at Sherlock but instead he felt himself already huffing out "Fine" and following him toward the theater before he could argue.

John had thought that sitting down in a chair would have helped him feel as though he could hold it better but he found that it was actually worse. Sherlock was unusually intrigued by the previews but John was fidgeting so much that the stranger sitting next to him kept shooting him daggers with her eyes. But no amount of shifting and repositioning could make John feel comfortable.

Twenty minutes into the film and John couldn't have told you one thing that had happened even though he had seen in already. He was focusing his full attention on what he wanted to happen when he got home; if he could only picture what Sherlock was going to do when they got home hard enough then surely he could hold it.

John was trying to remain optimistic when all of his ideas were struck with panic as he felt sure he imagined some moisture on his pants. His heart was racing with mild panic in the dark but thinking, hoping, that he was imagining that his aching bits were about to give in, John stuck a covert hand down his trousers to check, making sure to cover it up with his jacket so he didn't get more stink eye from the snobby looking women next to him.

John felt his mouth go dry when he realized that there was a small but beginning to grow wet patch on the front of his pants. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself from a steadily growing panic, John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was paying him no attention but surely he had to notice John's panic on some level. He wouldn't let John wet himself in the middle of a theater, right? He must know John better than he knew himself. Consoled by this fact, John sat back and tried to calm himself.

That's when it happened; a rush of warmth. This was no small patch; it was a large one that had grown from his pants to his trousers. No matter how hard he urged his body to stop the flow, there was nothing doing.

Filled completely with panic, John jumped up from his seat and raced as quickly as he could out of the theater, ignoring the many people cursing him as he banged their knees as he trampled over them to get to the stairs.

In the darkness of the theatre no one could see the evidence of John's emergency but as soon as he emerged into the hallway it was obvious. John was trying his hardest to hold it but the front of his jeans were now more wet than dry; he was thankful that no one seemed to be in the hallway because if they had, it would have been obvious that he was wetting his pants.

The realization that John was not just leaking but fully wetting himself increased his panic; with the increased emotional toil it seemed to spurn on his body, making his wetting worse. John could feel his heart racing, sweat pouring from his body as he ran as awkwardly as he could down the hallway toward the bright fluorescent oasis of the bathroom but by the time he reached it, the warm wetness was already running down his legs and toward his socks.

Completely humiliated and panicked, John raced into the first stall in the bathroom, yanking the door closed and locking it behind him. Feeling only a small fraction better now that no one would see him, he let himself go. His clothes were beyond his being able to hide what he had done and though he felt completely disgusted with himself, John didn't even try to undo his wet jeans and just let himself go in his pants.

Damn it felt good…for several moments John kept his eyes closed and just relished the blissful feeling of letting go. All day his bladder had ached and he'd been almost mad with need to go that to let it all out felt obscenely good. As his bladder emptied itself completely that was all his mind focused on; the wonderful sensation of an empty, relaxed bladder and the sensation of wet heat running down his legs in a sense of dirty bliss.

When it finally stopped, John found himself shaking and breathing hard, as if he had been holding his breath the whole time. As soon as he stopped and opened his eyes, all sense of bliss and relaxing ended and was at once replaced with a crushing sense of panic.

John's jeans were completely soaked through and his shoes and socks were soggy. John could only hope with all he had that no one came into the bathroom anytime soon; the overflow from his clothes had created an incriminating puddle on the floor next to his feet. He knew he had to think of something but he had no idea what.

John's face flamed with embarrassment and he felt a horrible sense of shame. He'd always thought that wetting himself in public would have produced a sensation of a small mindset; it seemed like such a childlike thing to do. But it didn't give that feeling at all; all he felt was horribly embarrassed. Anyone could excuse a child having an accident; for a 45 year old grown man, it would just make him look like a perverted freak.

John looked down at the mess of his jeans and couldn't help but feel disappointed. He hadn't made it; he'd tried so hard to hold it and he hadn't been able to. You failed, echoed though his mind unbidden and that was one of the worse feelings John could get. He hated failing and he'd avoid it at all costs.

But almost as soon as the guilt and failure hit him, it was replaced by a wave of hot anger. This wasn't HIS fault; it was Sherlock's fault. He was said he was sure that he knew what he was doing; he said he was sure that he knew how much John could handle despite the protests from John many times that he couldn't keep holding it. John felt his blushed cheeks burn with anger when he realized that Sherlock probably knew all along he would fail. He probably wanted to make him piss himself and be humiliated. John was furious; he would never do that to Sherlock.

John was fuming, his jeans growing cold and heavy when there was the sound of footsteps in the bathroom. One glance under the stall proved it was Sherlock's fancy shoes hovering uncertainly outside the stall.

"John?" Sherlock asked in a hesitant voice. "Are you alright?"

John felt his anger increase at Sherlock's tone, acting worried, as if he cared. "Go away, Sherlock!" John ordered, his fists balling in anger.

"I can't do that" Sherlock tried to argue. "I wanted to make sure you were alright. You ran out of the theater so fast."

"Oh yeah, like you don't know, you manipulative bastard" John growled. He hated that Sherlock wouldn't just admit that he knew all along what had happened and that he had planned this.

To John's further annoyance, Sherlock didn't listen to his plea to leave and what was more, he was now crawling under the stall to get in.

"What the hell is that matter with you?" John spat as Sherlock awkwardly crawled under the stall to gain entrance.

As soon as Sherlock stood up and caught sight of John and his wet pants his eyes widened. "John…." He started in a surprised voice but John didn't want to hear it.

"Yes, I pissed myself. Happy?" John asked with a flair of drama, his cheeks coloring.

"Happy? Why would be happy? You are obviously uncomfortable" Sherlock said. His voice sounded sympathetic but John wasn't going to be taken by it this time.

"You wanted this!" John said, narrowing his eyes angrily at Sherlock. "You kept telling me to hold it despite the fact I said I couldn't! Then you made me come out here in public even though I didn't want to. You knew I wouldn't make it! You wanted me to wet myself like this!"

Sherlock's mouth fell open in surprise. "John, I didn't….." Sherlock started but John cut him off again. If Sherlock still wasn't going to own up, John was finished. He was cold and wet and miserable and he just wanted to go home.

"Save it!" John cut him off, holding up a hand. "Give me your coat"

"My coat? Why?" Sherlock asked in confusion, looking down at his coat.

John was beyond done. "If you don't give me your coat, I will kick your ass and take it" he seethed, holding out a hand expectantly.

Sherlock knew better than to think it was an idle threat; John would do it. He took off the coat and reluctantly handed it to John. Without another word, John threw on Sherlock's coat, covering most evidence of his accident and fled from the bathroom, leaving Sherlock alone.

…..

John was glad at that moment like he had never been before that Sherlock was tall; his coat mostly covered up the evidence of John's accident but he was still extremely self-conscious as he walked through the theater; he felt like everyone was staring at him and that they all KNEW. It wasn't logical but that was still how he felt. He couldn't recall when he had last been this embarrassed.

He walked into the cold night air to catch a cab; his wet, chilled jeans were even more uncomfortable in the air. A few cabs passed him before one finally stopped; he knew probably looked like a vagabond in a coat so big it obviously wasn't his but he was sure in his overactive mind that they were avoiding him because of the invisible piss cloud he thought was hanging over his head. When he sat down in the cab and felt the moisture in his jeans soak through to Sherlock's coat he had a sick sense of satisfaction run through him. Sherlock ought to have a fun time getting that out.

As soon as John got into 221B he began throwing off clothes. He didn't care where he threw them; let Sherlock pick them up. As soon as he was naked he dashed into the bathroom and into the shower, turning the hottest water on his could stand and languishing in it.

He knew he was angrier at Sherlock than he should have been; it was a game and he had wanted to play. But he still felt ill-used. He'd always played into Sherlock's little fantasies; he was pleased to do it. But he never did anything that Sherlock hadn't specifically stated that he wanted. John had said on several occasions that he had wetting fantasies but he never once even came close to expressing a desire to wet himself in public because he didn't have one. Sherlock knew that; Sherlock knew everything. He knew plenty of things weren't fair but he still hated that it felt so 'unfair'.

John stayed in the shower for far longer than necessary before drying off and going to his bedroom. He threw on his pyjamas but he couldn't seem to bear putting on pants again. He put on a nappy under his pyjama bottoms but it didn't bring him the satisfaction it usually did. Quite the contrary, it made him feel embarrassed; like a small child that wanted to be potty trained but was told they weren't ready because they had an accident.

John climbed into bed even though he had no illusion that he would be able to sleep. He was not surprised when he heard Sherlock banging through the flat a few minutes later; he turned off his lamp and closed his eyes, hoping Sherlock would take him for being asleep already. Unfortunately, as usual, Sherlock was just too smart for that.

"John, I know you're not asleep so stop faking" Sherlock said moments later when he burst loudly into the room. John's eyes were closed but he felt the light on his face when Sherlock turned the lamp back on.

"I sleep next to you every night; I know your sleep breathing and this isn't it" Sherlock said when John continued to fake.

John could feel Sherlock sit down on the bed next to him. "I know you're angry at me but I want to talk to you, John" Sherlock said.

John considered not saying anything; he was so mad at Sherlock but he really didn't want to act like his feelings were as hurt as they were. He knew, however, that Sherlock would not leave until John talked to him so he knew it was best just to do it.

"I really don't want to talk to you" John said wearily, opening his eyes and staring at Sherlock. Sherlock's cheeks and nose were red from the cold outside and John smiled a little internally for that; it was a cold night with no coat.

"But I have to apologize" Sherlock said, his face earnest and drawn in concern. He seemed sincere and the word 'apologize' at least did get John's attention. Sherlock hardly ever apologized for anything.

"For what? For me getting angry you made me piss myself in a crowded theater?" John asked angrily, scowling at Sherlock.

"No" Sherlock was quick to say, "I didn't do it on purpose; I promise"

"Oh, yeah right" John said skeptically, pushing himself into a sitting position in bed and folding his arms across his chest. "You were the one who said you knew everything. You were the one who, when I said I might have an accident, claimed you'd KNOW how much I could take. Well, Mr. Know It All, you knew exactly what you were doing. Don't be surprised I got mad."

"John, I was wrong!" Sherlock said loudly, taking John completely by surprise.

John's mouth fell open slightly, trying to think of what to say for a moment. Sherlock never said he was wrong about anything, ever; he never was wrong about anything. "What?" John asked bluntly. His angry tone faded away and was replaced with surprise.

Sherlock looked away as if self-conscious now that he realized that he had admitted a weakness. "I made a….mistake" Sherlock admitted now reluctantly. "I thought that I could anticipate how long you could go; I always have been able to before. Honestly, it was not my intention to have you have an accident; especially in the theater. I believed my calculations about the capacity of your bladder anticipated that you would be able to hold it through the film. When we returned home I fully intended to allow you relief. I meant what I said; I would not make you suffer and then not give your sultry reward."

John tried hard not to smile at that but he felt the corners of his mouth twitching over the 'capacity of his bladder' and 'your sultry reward'. "I have to give it to you" John said, half way between trying to sound still angry and not, "You actually sound sincere. But then again, you're a damn good liar."

Sherlock's face contorted into a strange mask of hurt that John did not expect. John would have thought Sherlock was proud to be an accomplished liar but he didn't appear to be so. "Am I really that mean?" Sherlock asked, slight hurt in his voice. "Am I so mean you think after all of the indulging you do for me that I would take one of the few fantasies that you've mentioned to me and use it to humiliate you?"

Yes; for a while that is exactly what John did imagine Sherlock was doing. But was that really fair? No…..John knew that it really wasn't. It was just so hard to believe that Sherlock was wrong that it was always the last possibility in his mind. "No" John said with a genuine smile, shaking his head, "No, I really didn't. Maybe at some point I would have believed that of you but not now. I've trained you to have much better for compassion over the years."

"You have not 'trained' me" Sherlock said, trying to look affronted but he was smiling all the same, obviously glad that John was not angry anymore.

John laughed. "If I have not trained my little boy then what have I done?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Sherlock looked like saying anything but he flushed pleasantly all the same.

"I really am sorry. I know you must have been horribly embarrassed." Sherlock said, almost cringing as if he was remembering it himself.

"Yeah, pretty much" John said, trying to sound nonchalant as he felt his cheeks involuntarily redden at the memory, "And I'm sorry about you coat."

"My coat?" Sherlock asked curiously as if he knew but didn't want to know what that meant.

"You'll see" John said, finding it hard to not smile. Even though it had been an accident, he still felt that getting pee all over Sherlock's beloved coat was a justifiable punishment.

John watched Sherlock squirm uncomfortably for several minutes. It wasn't common for Sherlock and John waited, interested to see what was causing him to be so uncharacteristically put out. "So….uh…..John…" he said, pausing, looking at John.

"Yes?" John asked, grinning.

"We could still finish this little game you know" Sherlock said, his ears flaming. John had to grin at how embarrassed he seemed; it too a lot to really embarrass Sherlock.

"Oh? We could?" John asked, eyebrows raising in curiosity. He was baiting Sherlock; he wanted to hear him say it.

"We could have dinner…..have some beers and then…"Sherlock said, blushing thoroughly now.

"And then?" John prodded.

"Oh, like you don't know" Sherlock said in a huff, embarrassed. "After you're fully filled with that disgusting brand of beer you enjoy so much, you can live out your uncivilized fetish"

John's lips twitched. "Oh, that" he said, "Yeah, I suppose we could do that. Though you must know commenting on my 'uncivilized fetish' will only make it go worse for you"

John had never seen Sherlock blush so deeply before or look so shy; it was really quite an accomplishment. He could barely hear Sherlock's quiet voice when he spoke up.

"Yes, sir"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you're aware, this chapter is explicit. Its not the norm for my writing so I'm just letting you guys know. I still cant believe I wrote this ;) Enjoy!

If John had been at all unconvinced about the sincerity of Sherlock's apology then his behavior after their conversation would have erased any doubts.

John changed out of his nappy back into pants under his pyjamas, his skin crawling with excitement from the abrupt change of the evening's plans. He settled down into his armchair as Sherlock came into the room. His hair seemed extra tousled even though John couldn't imagine how it'd gotten so messed up in such a short time and his outfit was delightfully childish. He had on his 'science rocks!' t-shirt complete with cartoon test tube on it and his most boyish pair of underwear, extra thick and covered with multicolored stars. He hesitated, standing next to John's chair, pulling at his t-shirt hem nervously, looking at John.

"What would you like me to do, sir?" Sherlock asked, his voice subdued, looking for approval.

Sherlock was a blissfully needy submissive. He could be stubborn when he wanted to be, especially when he was little. But more often than not, when they were home and he was big, Sherlock was submissive to the core. Though John wasn't mad at Sherlock anymore, he was more than eager to make up for the oversights of earlier and if there was something that John couldn't resist, it was an eager Sherlock. The respect in his tone, his little boy attire and his obvious need to please written on his face and it was all John could manage to make himself wait.

John smiled inside; he was fully going to play into this scenario. "Well, for starters you can order some take away; it's long past dinner time. Then, you get me a beer and you can make sure to keep them coming" John said in his best 'captain' voice.

John could see Sherlock's face redden, the trace of a shiver going through him at the words; he was going to enjoy this just as much as John was. It was no secret Sherlock liked being treated poorly; John didn't often take advantage of that and he'd never overdo it but he felt like pushing the edges a little bit tonight.

"Yes…..yes, of course, sir" Sherlock said in a hurried voice, rushing into the kitchen. John could hear him phoning the take away and five seconds later he had scurried back into the room with a beer in each hand.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked hopefully, handing John a beer and setting the extra on the table beside him.

John suppressed a smile. "I'll let you know when I need you" he said with a caviler wave of his hand. He opened the beer and began to drink it, flipping through the television programs with only half an eye; the other was fully trained on Sherlock.

Sherlock hovered with indecision for several moments, not knowing what to do; he hung next to his chair before setting himself down in it. John couldn't resist.

"I don't think so" John said in a barking voice, starling Sherlock so much that he hopped up. "This is your seat right here"

John pointed to the floor and just like an obedient dog, Sherlock vacated the chair and hurried over to sit at John's feet in the floor. John pretended to watch the telly but really his whole attention was on Sherlock; since John had chastised him, Sherlock avoided moving at all. John felt a little guilty for enjoying it so much but he did feel in a way he had earned this.

When the take away arrived, John nudged Sherlock with his foot. "Surely you don't expect me to get my own food, do you?" John asked harshly.

"No, no sir" Sherlock said quickly, rushing to get John's food. He made sure that John had everything that he needed before he settled down with his own. He didn't even have to be told to sit at John's feet while he ate.

It was not an overstatement to say that John stayed perpetually half-hard; he had ever since Sherlock had walked into the room. Even so, he went slowly; he sipped his beers rather than downed them and kept sitting even long after his bladder began to protest. He wanted to make the most out of this and he couldn't resist taking advantage of Sherlock's compliant behavior.

It was quite interesting to watch Sherlock nerves deteriorate, if John was honest with himself. He had been a mass of nerves and anxiousness all day waiting for Sherlock to finally do something that didn't come; it was interesting to turn that on him. Sherlock , sitting at John's feet, kept shifting him weight, wrenching his hands, rubbing his face…..it didn't take Sherlock's deductive abilities for John to know he was growing more and more anxious by the moment. It was quite gratifying for John to watch but he had to admit that he himself was finding it hard to wait and knew he could not long prolong Sherlock's torture.

John waited until his bladder was almost as full to burst as it had been at the theater; now he knew his limits but he still wanted to push it. Contrary to what he had told Sherlock earlier, it DID heighten his arousal and as he watched Sherlock sit obediently at his feet and felt the throbbing in his bladder, it was almost enough to make him come then and there.

John stood up as abruptly as he could manage with his aching bladder and growing tighter pants. Sherlock's head immediately whipped around to look at him and though John could see he was practically panting with desire, he didn't do or say anything, just watching John for a command like a perfect submissive. He WAS the perfect submissive….

"You…..go to the bedroom" John commanded. The fact that he was able to spit the words out like they were a bad taste in his mouth when he felt desire creeping up his neck was a miracle; when Sherlock immediately jumped up and ran to the bedroom, muttering, "Yes, sir!" John felt himself go from half hard to all the way as quickly as if he had been 18 again.

John took his time walking to the bedroom though every footstep sent a shot of pain through his bladder and his anticipation made him want to take off. A cold chill of delight ran down the back of his neck; how long had he wanted this? With every girlfriend he'd ever had but was too shy to ask? Ever since he'd reached puberty and couldn't figure out why he sometimes got aroused when he went to the bathroom after holding it too long? Ever since he'd begun wearing nappies and the desire had become unbearable? It had been far, far too long….

When John got to the bedroom, Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed. Clad in his childish clothing, his hair delicious tousled, his cheeks flushed red he was the delightful mix of infantile and adult that made John stop and take a deep breath before he could speak.

"Sir, what would you like me to do?" Sherlock asked when John took too long. Even his voice sounded childish, vulnerable and naïve…even though his eyes were dark John felt a shudder go through his whole body. Sherlock knew…..Sherlock knew everything and how to most affect John and yet that didn't take any edge off to the effect he made by playing the part. With his hands folded in his training pants clad laps, his face turned up toward him in a sly little grin, John almost wanted to push him against the bed and just be done with it then.

"Well, for starters, you can get off the bed because no one bloody told you to sit on the bed, did they?" John spat, pointing to the floor where he wanted Sherlock to sit. It gave him entirely too much pleasure to watch Sherlock scramble off the bed and into the floor like he was on fire.

"No sir, you didn't" Sherlock said submissively, eyes down on the floor, on his knees.

A dark tremble of pleasure ran down John's back…oh he could have him anyway he liked…. "Why are you looking at the floor? What's so interesting there? I'm up here, aren't I?" John snapped, resisting the urge to grab himself through his pants from all the pressure.

"Yes, sir, you are up there. I want to look up here since you are up here. Everything worth seeing is here" Sherlock said in a delightfully small voice, slight smile as his eyes met John's. A moment later, Sherlock's eyes drifted suggestively toward John's lap at his eye level, his cheeks pinking as he spoke. "Sir, I notice your trousers seem a bit tight. Might you be more comfortable if you took them off?"

John almost lost it. Breaking into a cold sweat, he tried to think of something to say to tell Sherlock off but he couldn't manage to do it. "I think I would be more comfortable" he said, reaching down to his waistband. Pulling down his pyjama bottoms and pants, John shuddered as his cock was freed, the cold air hitting the fevered skin. It throbbed, aching from the need to go and from his arousal but John forced himself to hold on a little longer.

"Wow, sir…..it seems like you need something "Sherlock remarked, his eyes falling on John's completely erect member, eyes wide and a bit awestruck, enough so that John was flattered. Sherlock's hands came up to tentatively grab onto to John's hips, grazing delicate skin as he stared at his cock. John's hands knit into Sherlock's hair, resisting the urge to slam himself into Sherlock's mouth, he looked so eager…

"I do" John said, grabbing Sherlock's curls in both fists tightly. It was to Sherlock's credit that didn't call out. "What if I told you I need to let go…..I need to let go all over you"

John was proud of his own deductive abilities; he could see Sherlock pale slightly, followed by reddened cheeks, his Adam's apple shaking as he swallowed heavily. He was deciding if he really wanted to go through with this after all.

"I want whatever you have to give me, sir" Sherlock said after a long pause. His eyes were bright, open and trusting as looked up at John. That's when he knew; John knew Sherlock had made up his mind to go through with this. His look was so trusting and open that John knew this would be okay; he knew he could fully let go and it was almost hard not to at once.

"I am very, very glad to hear that" John said honestly, having a hard time not grinning ear to ear, staring down at Sherlock.

Unable to resist any longer, John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder and pushed himself toward Sherlock's mouth, sheathing himself in Sherlock's sassy, smart, hot mouth. Sherlock was never one to protest against John's girth but even so this time, so surprised by his swiftness, he gagged slightly as John pressed himself deeper into Sherlock's mouth. Though John knew it was horrible etiquette and he hated when Sherlock did it to him, he couldn't help but press a little further still, just to hear Sherlock make that delightful gagging noise. When Sherlock pulled back against John's hand slightly to get away John knew from experience not to push anymore.

It was only a prelude but John could have gotten lost in it. It would have been more than easy to just let Sherlock keep up the fantastic sucking and licking that he was doing until it pushed him over the edge; it wouldn't have taken long. For someone that had lived most of his life thinking he was asexual, Sherlock gave unbelievable head; better than all of the woman he'd ever been with combined. Sherlock's deductive capabilities to be able to read John like an open book, combined with his obvious oral fixation gave him a completely uncanny ability to know exactly what to touch and how to do it. With his cock trapped inside hot, wet heat and his bladder pushed beyond what he normally could stand, it took every ounce of self-control to pull back and not let himself come yet.

John pulled back with a slightly pathetic groan that he couldn't completely stifle, his cock throbbing and aching and his bladder pulsing from his self-imposed abuse. When John caught sight of Sherlock again, he was able to gather his spirit of domination again.

Sherlock was kneeling on the floor, looking up at John expectantly, his cheeks flushed and pink and his own cock obviously straining against his pants. He was obviously aroused but somehow he still was able to maintain that delicious innocent demeanor that made this whole situation all the better.

Sherlock startled John by reaching up and touching his cock; it was barely a touch, his long, skilled fingers just grazing his sensitive skin but it made John shiver and bite his lip. John didn't miss the sharp intake of breath from Sherlock as he watched the effect he was having on John.

"Sir" Sherlock said, his voice more breathless now, giving his desire away, his eyes intent on John's member before meeting his eyes, "Let go…just let go. Please….."

That was all it took; though John was the dominate one in this situation there was something about being told to let go, almost begging, that John couldn't resist. Though this was John's fantasy, Sherlock's voice and demeanor told him that he was a most willing participate; if he wasn't, then he was a damn good enough actor to fool John. With Sherlock's eager words and open submission, the events of the day washed over John. All the anticipation, all the need and want…..the humiliation of his accident and his anger at Sherlock for it despite it being an accident. With a rush of desire, want, anger, power and need, John let go.

God, it felt good, much better than even he could have imagined. As relieving as his accident had felt earlier after having held it all day, this was so much better. As he let go, the pain and throbbing in his bladder and cock faded away into the most delightful bliss he could possibly imagine, pushing him to the very edge of an orgasm without actually pushing him over. As good as the bodily relief felt, it couldn't compare to the sense of wonderful, filthy need that filled him as he showered Sherlock. It was completely filthy, completely demeaning and though John knew he shouldn't have felt so much pleasure at it, he couldn't help but feeling nothing but pleasure at it. All of the times that Sherlock had sassed him, all of the times that John had contained anger at Sherlock when all he wanted to do was hit him, all the times that Sherlock was practically begging John to do something to him fell to the forefront of John's mind and made the misuse of Sherlock all the better. Sherlock had done a lot of shitty things to him but at least he had never pissed on him; Sherlock could no longer say the same thing. John usually treated Sherlock with stellar respect and care, taking his needs and wants as gospel before John even thought about himself. But occasionally, Sherlock enjoyed being treated like shit and John was only too eager to humor him.

John's entire body was shaking with need and adrenaline from the foulness of the situation; he could feel his pulse vibrating in every part of his body, hammering in his chest, his member absolutely throbbing from being on the precipice of an orgasm for far too long. When John looked at Sherlock and took in the whole situation was almost enough to take his breath away.

Sherlock had taken it admirably; he was submissive to the extreme, not even trying to move away as John had showered him. His curls now hung limp and wet, framing his face, moisture rolling down his face and neck, creating sad little wet patches on his childish shirt. It'd obviously done nothing to hamper his desire; his cock was painfully straining against his pants and even Sherlock couldn't resist the urge to put his hand there as if by placing it there it could give him some relief. But when he realized that John was done, his hung his wet head and gave a little cry of a sob; a dry, forced sob but a sob none the less. It was lusciously pitiful.

"No more, sir. Please…no more" Sherlock said in a small voice, giving another pathetic cry that sounded oddly enough like 'please do more'. John had to force himself to not smile; this would be fap fodder for years to come.

"No more? No more you say?" John said in a gruff version of his 'captain's' tone Sherlock liked so much. "Your mouth says that you don't want more but your body says otherwise. Your body tells me you are a liar" John reached down and grabbed Sherlock roughly through his pants, provoking a pathetic cry of delight from Sherlock, "Seems you rather enjoyed it. You're filthy, aren't you? You're just a filthy, dirty little boy aren't you?"

Sherlock finally looked up at John and though his face bore the marks of his forced cries, John could see the pleasant flush underneath that; he was eating this up as much as John was.

"Yes…yes, I am." Sherlock said, his voice betraying both self-loathing and heated desire, "I'm a miserable, dirty boy. Please help me, sir"

John couldn't help but smiling, despite their game; he could see what was coming and it was exactly what he wanted. But he also wanted to hear Sherlock say it. "And how would I help a naughty little thing like you?" John asked in a sneering voice, proud he could manage anything but a raw, needy tone.

Sherlock looked at John with the most innocent, pathetic look but there was darkness in his eyes. "Fuck me, sir" he said in a dark, juvenile tone that shook John to his very core.

It sent John into a pure, lust filled frenzy. In a matter of mere moments, John had grabbed Sherlock roughly by the arms, thrown him so he was bent over the bed and pulled down Sherlock's childish pants just enough that his perfect, pale bum was exposed. With none of the usual, safe, warming up procedures that John normally respected Sherlock with, he put his cock to Sherlock's entrance and almost at once pushed himself inside. John moaned from the wonderful, tight pressure of it as Sherlock gripped the sheets and called out in surprise and pain. As John began thrusting deep and rough as his over excited body demanded, he knew Sherlock was more than okay as he became a whimpering, gasping mess on the bed under him.

John knew it wasn't going to take long at all this time; he felt almost on the edge as soon as he was sheathed inside Sherlock, so much so that he was very nearly in danger of looking like a minute man. Nearly the whole day had been foreplay, culminating in a dirty, long unrealized fantasy that had finally become true and his cock could hardly take it anymore. He wanted to let go so badly with every thrust but even so he didn't want to give in so quickly. As usual, Sherlock could sense the problem and at once was ready to reassure him.

"Do it, John…just do it!" Sherlock called through his sultry panting. It wasn't the gentlest reassurance but it fit the situation perfectly and did the trick. With one last thrust into Sherlock, John felt his intense orgasm wash over him and he spilled himself into Sherlock, nearly collapsing on top of him in relief and fatigue. With a collective moan, John pulled his spent cock out of Sherlock and they both climbed onto the bed, albeit Sherlock did so gingerly, lowering his bum slowly on their bed.

Sherlock was gasping, his face and hair still wet, his cheeks pinks and inflamed as he smiled at John. "Well, did that meet your expectations?" he asked, a slight smirk in his smile.

God….he was perfect. John didn't often get overly sappy and romantic in a post orgasm blaze of glory but he felt it this time. Looking at Sherlock, the man who not only had not complained that he'd slammed his cock down his throat rudely or that he had pushed himself up his ass with no preparation but also who had willingly let John piss all over him, he couldn't help but realize just how lucky he was.

"You're perfect, you know that?" John said in an awe inspired voice. It was the same worshipful tone he'd used to describe Sherlock's deductive capabilities way back when they had first met.

Taking Sherlock's face in his hands and pulling him to him, John snogged him for all he was worth. Mouth open and tongue searching, hands in wet curls…..John tried to kiss Sherlock like it was the first time again and he was only spurned on when he felt Sherlock move closer to him and melt against him. Realizing they were still partially clothed which was absurd, John broke apart only long enough to pull his shirt off and take Sherlock's off before crushing Sherlock's lips with his own again. He needed that…..he needed to feel Sherlock's fevered skin against his own, his heartbeat quick and erratic underneath…he needed to feel Sherlock's fingers as they danced across his back, always moving a little bit gentler when they moved towards his old battle scar.

When they finally pulled apart, Sherlock was red and flustered and obviously pleased. "Well, I have been told that on many occasions…mainly by you" he managed to say in a somewhat cocky voice but he was so obviously flustered that it came out sheepish.

John could have easily curled up on the bed and fallen asleep but he couldn't help but notice Sherlock's still fully erect cock. It was just like Sherlock to not mention it or try to do anything about it once John was satisfied unless of course John made a move to do so; he was just too much a glutton for punishment. With an idea springing to mind, John was already smiling as he wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock and began pumping it. Sherlock closed his eyes and gasped, head thrown back in what should have been an illegally sexy way.

"Hey, Sherlock. I've just had an idea. Can you guess what it is?" John said. Sherlock's head was hanging back, so lost in sensation that he could barely speak much less deduct and John couldn't help but smile. He delighted in the fact that he was the only person on earth who could reduce Sherlock to this state.

"I can hardly think…..when you're…..doing that….."Sherlock gasped out. He was so eager that he was now moving his hips, thrusting against John's hand for greater purchase.

John grinned. "Well, then, I'll tell you" he said, "I was thinking that now maybe you could fuck me"

For someone that claimed to be completely incoherent, Sherlock came alive pretty immediately. His eyes snapped open, his head whipped round and he looked at John with a hopeful look that said he could barely contain himself. "You mean it?" Sherlock asked, breathless, as if he could hardly believe it.

John grinned at him and lay back on the bed as if through invitation. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't meant it" he said.

"Then I hardly need to say, yes…Yes!" Sherlock said excitedly, already moving toward him.

John was not a bottom, nor did he have any intention of being one. It wasn't that he never bottomed; that would just be callous and rude. But he and Sherlock had their preferred roles; Sherlock did like being the bottom and John did like being the top. But they did occasionally switch. John could still recall how intense it'd been the first time; the pressure, the pain despite Sherlock's being so gentle…..he'd been embarrassed because his discomfort his was so apparent Sherlock stopped after only a few minutes. He'd been better the other times…..but it still wasn't a common occurrence between them. After the completely uncommon occurrence that had just happened between them John hardly though he needed not to reciprocate.

When John was laid down properly and he opened his eyes, he could see Sherlock fumbling with the drawer with shaky hands. John smiled, pleased that it only took minimal fumbling to locate the lube. Sherlock had it in hand but seemed overcome with passion as he turned around.

"God, John…."Sherlock managed to gasp out passionately before placing a sloppy, biting kiss to his lips before breaking away and looking at John. All John could manage was a smile; maybe he needed to do this more…..

As Sherlock squeezed the lube onto his fingers, John reflexively spread his legs and breathed in, anticipating pressure. Before Sherlock even touched him, he was giving him a knowingly look. "No clenching….that'll only make it worse" he cautioned John, smiling but John could see the slight undercurrent of worry that this might not work.

"Sorry…..habit" John said, laying back and taking deep breaths, determined to not flinch. When he closed his eyes, he envisioned Sherlock on his knees, compliant and open, unflinching as he let loose on him…..lost in his thoughts, he wasn't even aware of anything until he felt a finger push almost effortlessly into him. It was a moment of pressure but then…..he felt a measure of dirty bliss. Then, to his immense delight, he felt Sherlock still erect member press against his leg.

"Do you feel that, sir?" Sherlock whispered in John's ear, keeping up their game like a true champ. "Know why that's there?"

It took everything John had not to reach out and grab it. "Why?" he breathed out, too intent on Sherlock's fingers, now two, then three moving inside him, to think.

"Because you're so fucking hot" Sherlock trilled, moving his fingers faster and faster until John forgot it should be painful and only felt delight, "Taking control, telling me what to do…..pissing on me like the filthy boy I am…I can't control it"

John was making delightful moaning noises and didn't even notice when replaced his fingers for his cock until it was pressing it deeper and deeper into John's body. He gasped, overwhelmed for a minute, before Sherlock was leaning over him, chest to chest, head to head, his hand on his heart making sure he was okay.

"Okay?" Sherlock asked once for clarification, stalled for what must have been an agonizing second.

John's eyes flashed open for a second, meeting Sherlock's with a smile. "You had better take me now, dirty boy" he whispered coyly. It was all Sherlock needed and it was perfect.

John held Sherlock's head to his chest, playing with his hair as Sherlock pushed hurriedly and with abandon into him. He couldn't deny it wasn't like the other times; it was much better. Sherlock was so filled with passion and abandon, John was so overstimulated and overly aroused that he didn't feel any pain; his worn out member twitched as Sherlock's cock managed to hit his prostate what felt like every time. Sherlock was so overspent that it didn't take long, just like it hadn't for John; even so, every moment he and Sherlock seemed to grow louder and louder until John was sure that he should feel pity for anyone within a city block.

Sherlock was gorgeous, perfect; as his desire built like a wave, he threw back his head, mouth open as he gasped out John's name so quietly he couldn't hear it; he could only read his name on Sherlock's lips. When he collapsed against John's chest, they were both shaking; John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin frame and held his fevered skin against his own. It was perfect…..this was all so perfect. As terrible as he had thought his night was going to be, nothing could have prepared him for how well it had turned out.

"That…..this…night…..it was all…..perfect" John gasped out, trying to catch his breath as his heart was still hammering his chest excitedly. Sherlock moved his head up from John's chest just enough to look into John's eyes. He was grinning happily, if a little smugly. That was okay…Sherlock deserved to feel smug.

"It was? "Sherlock asked, his lips twitching, his cheeks flushed with obvious pleasure and satisfaction.

"It really was…..except for one thing" John said, overly pretending to think.

Sherlock's face fell a bit. "What's that? "he asked, as if worried he'd failed at something.

John couldn't resist; it just wouldn't be them if they couldn't mix the sweet with a little bit of salt. "It was perfect except for the fact that you smell like piss" John said, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Sherlock broke into a smile and hit John with the nearest pillow. "Oh yeah? Whose fault is that?" he asked, still playfully hitting John.

"Mine, entirely mine" John said, holding Sherlock close, feeling as satisfied as he could ever remembering being. "Let's go take a shower, my smelly little prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I know this isnt my normal thing for this series but I'm glad there was still some intrest for it :) I plan on publishing a series of little space drabbles for this series soon so look out for it!


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